It’s not like I haven’t seen dozens of shirtless players over the years. It’s pretty much expected in post-game clubhouse interviews. I once questioned a rising-star center fielder in nothing but a towel, keeping my focus and professionalism the whole time.
Still…there’s something about Tenny in snug baseball pants with only his signature tennis necklace resting on exposed collarbones.
“Trying to pin down Shane,” I say, fixing my gaze on Tenny’s face and keeping it there.
“Good luck with that.”
Tenny’s grin is all wholesome, golden-retriever energy, like he hadn’t noticed me ogling him.
Or maybe he doesn’t care? He’s probably so used to women fawning over him that he barely registers it anymore. I shake off the embarrassment of being likeso manyother women and focus on what matters—my job.
“What about you?” I accept Daphne’s proffered microphone, clicking into work-mode. “How are you feeling about today’s game?”
It doesn’t seem physically possible, but Tenny’s smile doubles in size. “It’s a beautiful, sunny day. We’re well rested from our day off yesterday. I’d say we’re going to have a great game.”
“It’s a good day to be a Wave?” I ask with a poised grin.
“It’s always a good day to be a Wave.”
He gives me a playful wink that Ido notfeel to the tips of my toes.
“That’s good,” I tell Daphne.
Pregame interviews are supposed to be quick, and I should already be looking for Shane.
“It would have been a good day for you yesterday, if you’d joined us at Trevor’s pool party,” Tenny adds.
Rumor has it, Trevor Chapman hosts occasional pool parties on their days off at his home in Virginia Beach. I was told he rented a huge house with a pool so the team could all relax together while at spring training. His new bride, Kenzie, and their two cats even relocated for six weeks in the sun as opposed to suffering through a dreary Virginian winter.
I barely keep from rolling my eyes, but only because Daphne’s camera lens is mere inches from my face. Why is she still filming?
“Sorry my refusal hurt your fragile feelings, but I need to maintain objectivity. Attending a social event with Waves players would pose a conflict of interest.”
Tenny’s grin shifts into a wicked smirk. “You seemed pretty interested a minute ago.”
So he did notice…
I mentally give myself a hard shake. It’s not like I can date a player on the team I report on. Talk about violating every professional boundary in the book. Even if Iwasconsidering setting my career on fire, it wouldn’t be with baseball’s womanizer of the year.
My bored yawn only makes him laugh.
“Thanks, Brianna.” Tenny accepts a clean jersey from a clubhouse attendant while keeping his eyes locked on mine.
When I fold my arms over my chest, he proceeds to pull on the freshly laundered fabric with the pace of a snail. I’ve seriously seen paint dry faster.
“Preparing for how slow you’ll run the bases later?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.
My snarky comment only delights him. “You’re welcome to walk away whenever you’d like, Ms. Stevens.”
Okay, well. Now I can’t leave.
Popping out a hip, I keep our eye contact and start tapping an impatient foot.
Tenny laughs,and the sound fizzes down my forearms like champagne bubbles. I shouldn’t love the sound of it. And Idefinitelyshouldn’t listen to a clip of it when I’m stressed over a deadline. It’s just…something about the timbre of Tenny’s carefree laugh eases the tension between my shoulder blades.
“Perhaps you need—”
The rest of my quip dies in my open mouth when two reserve pitchers get in a playful shoving match behind Daphne. Oblivious to their surroundings, they knock into her, causing her to almost drop the camera. I twist—too quickly and forcefully—to steady the camera. The pain searing down my back steals my breath. A grunt escapes my lips as I blink to keep tears at bay.
